Rewriting the Ending
by MistressOfSmite
Summary: He doesn't know how their story was supposed to end, but he knows it wasn't like this. He's going to give them the ending they deserve. AU after 8x08. Begins with character death and is pretty dark, but that lessens as the story progresses. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_**AU after 8x08.**_

 _No hope could have no fear_

—James Thomson, "City of Dreadful Night"

X

Richard Castle tightens his grip on the cane. He skipped his last dose of Darvocet—he needs all his wits about him soon—and the pain is bad, radiating up from his knee and throbbing with every bump in the road. Out of habit, he glances at his watch, but it's frozen at 2:37 p.m.

"About ten minutes," says his father.

Castle nods, though he isn't sure if his father's taken his eyes off the road long enough to see. He should reply verbally, but it's easier when he doesn't speak, when he doesn't have to force words out through that ever-present strangling ache in his throat. The ache of sorrow too great for tears.

The street rolls on before them. It's late, nearly three in the morning, and the city is as quiet as it will ever be. About ten minutes until they get to the museum, and then with a few minutes' work, all this will be over. One way or another.

His father clears his throat softly. When Castle glances over at the man, he's startled at how much he's aged in the last two days. The silver-fox hair looks thin and bedraggled, and there are lines carved deep in the man's face. Castle's pretty sure he doesn't look much better. Probably worse.

"Richard." His father's voice is hesitant, and softer than Castle's ever heard it. "Whatever you're planning…you don't have to do this."

A reply seems necessary, so he does his best to get the words out. "What else can I do?"

"Come with me."

"Where?"

His father shrugs. "Europe's our best bet. I have the most connections there."

Castle is silent; his father seems to take this for interest. "We can start over. It makes sense. You're all I've got left. Son…please."

Castle knows this is a last, desperate ploy. The use of _son_ is a giveaway, coming from this man who's only a father in the most tenuous sense. "I'm not changing my mind," he replies. "I have to—"

"Die." The word is said with scathing contempt. "And don't deny it. I know a man on a suicide mission when I see one."

"I'm sure it looks that way to you."

"Then what is it?"

There's no way to explain his plan. He's not even sure if it will work; it may well end up a suicide mission. But no matter what, he's a dead man walking.

As if to confirm this, his father says, "We're being followed."

"How big is our lead?"

"Five minutes. Is that enough?"

"It'll have to be."

"I can buy you some time."

"No." The last thing he needs is more blood on his hands.

They're silent for the rest of the drive. His father glances behind them from time to time; Castle keeps his gaze forward, focusing on what he needs to do.

X

He should have known it would end this way.

It had started to be fun, pretending that he and Kate were separated, sneaking off for trysts and laughing about how they'd pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. But they hadn't fooled the right people.

He never knew how LokSat found out. Maybe Vikram betrayed them; maybe it was something else entirely. At any rate, LokSat decided to make sure to take care of all loose ends…and a few others, for good measure.

In just a few hours' time: Ryan and Esposito perished in a car wreck; Kate was found in an alley, savagely beaten; a bomb took out the office of Richard Castle Investigations, and with it Alexis, Hayley, and his mother, who was there to bring by some cronuts. The bomb would have killed him as well, but it had gone off a few seconds too early, and the blast had only thrown him into a wall, giving him a mild concussion, wrecking his knee, cracking several ribs, and stopping time at 2:37 p.m.

His father spirited him out of the hospital as soon as Castle regained consciousness. Castle fought him at first. "Kate! We have to go back and get her!"

"We can't."

"But she's alive?"

Technically. In an irreversible coma and with a flat EEG. Whoever had beaten Kate had spent a lot of time on her skull, caving parts of it in, sending bone shards deep, turning the clever brain that had unraveled so many mysteries to useless pulp. But in one of those cosmic jokes that aren't funny, she was still breathing, and her heart was still beating, kept going by machines.

His father, ever the soldier, said they should take revenge, but Castle could find no heart for this. The old cliché was true: it wouldn't bring any of them back. And he had no idea on whom they'd exact revenge. Kate never had revealed the details of her LokSat investigation to him; every time he'd pressed her, she'd distracted him by ushering him into the bedroom (or the kitchen, or his office, or against the bookshelves) and fucking his brains out. As distractions went, it was sublime, and to be honest, he was tired of scratching and clawing and prying into her secrets. Let her have this last one.

No, he didn't want revenge. What he wanted was to rewrite the ending.

X

He tries to refuse his father's help; the older man is having none of it. "Let me get you in, at least. You can barely walk."

That's true enough, so he lets his father carry the necessary tools while he hobbles after, leaning heavily on the cane. It's a cheap aluminum thing, purchased in haste from a drugstore two states behind them, but it gets the job done.

As does his father. As the employee entrance door swings open, the alarm system deactivated, they embrace for the first and last time. It's awkward and hasty, with silence in lieu of many things unspoken. Then Castle turns and heads into the museum's dark and quiet halls.

He's done his research and knows exactly where he needs to go. First floor (thank God — his knee wouldn't handle many stairs). North hall. Pre-Colombian artifacts. And there it is, behind glass, the medallion that once sent him to a world where he had never met Kate Beckett.

He takes a hammer from his coat pocket, and in just three blows the display case is shattered and a siren whoops inanely into the night. He picks up the medallion. It's surprisingly cold to the touch, and heavier than it looks.

Maybe it's nothing but an old hunk of metal, and everything he thought he experienced because of it was the result of a bump on the head and too much coffee that morning.

Or maybe it can take him to a world where things end differently for them all.

He has to believe it. Because he knows— _knows_ —that their story wasn't supposed to end this way.

X

He limps out of the museum. Behind him, in the first floor north hall, is a hammer he won't be needing any more, a pile of shattered glass, and a display case with one item missing.

Ahead of him is not the nondescript sedan he and his father arrived in, but a standard-issue black SUV (his least favorite kind of car). He can see a shadowy figure behind the wheel, and standing by the passenger door is a black-clad figure, an automatic pistol in one hand.

"Nice cane," says a voice Castle doesn't recognize.

Castle doesn't reply. He has nothing left for a last witty statement or even biting words of anger. He's focused on nothing but the artifact in his pocket, clutching it tight, thinking: _Rewrite the ending. Change it for all of us. Take me to some time when I can change things for the better._

The black-clad figure raises his pistol to fire.

Castle smiles as two shots ring out.

 _ **To be continued…**_


	2. Chapter 2

_I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground_

 _So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:_

 _Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned_

 _With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned._

—Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Dirge Without Music"

X

Fate is resistant to change. Trying to alter it is like groping in darkness, feeling his way through events beyond his control. Then he'll stumble on something that he _can_ change. There's no predicting what it will be, or if his change will actually have an outcome…let alone the outcome he wants.

X

His heart is pounding as he waits for her phone to ring. _Now. Now is when I can change it._

It rings while Kate's cleaning cupcake off her fingers, and he answers. A voice—Vikram's voice, and he has to suppress a twitch of anger when he hears it—asks for Kate Beckett.

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number," Castle says.

"But it's—"

He hangs up. _Let this work. Let me change things._

"Who was that?" Kate asks while she fastens the bracelet on her wrist.

"Wrong number. At least I think so. Most of what they said was in Spanish."

She laughs and kisses him goodbye and heads out the door. And though he hopes he's done it, his writer's brain knows differently. It won't be that easy.

And it isn't. The rest of the day unfolds just like it did before.

He tries telling her, begging her to not pursue it. But Vikram's contacted her at the precinct, and told her about the phone call, and the lie. Castle's change only drives her further away from him. Fate's not quite as cruel this time—Alexis and his mother are spared—but that's not good enough.

X

They're on the swings, and she's telling him about the request to run for state senate and that she aced the captain's exam.

"I don't know," he says. "As sexy as 'Captain Beckett' sounds, I don't think it's right for you."

She regards him quizzically. "Why not?"

He shrugs as casually as he can. "Meetings and paperwork don't really sound like what you'd find enjoyable in the long run."

After a long moment, she nods. "Maybe. But I don't know about Washington either. I got a taste of that with the AG's office."

She ends up going with the state senate run, but that doesn't keep her safe. He doesn't know how or when things go wrong, only that she doesn't come home one night, and they find her two days later. Her death's considered a mugging gone wrong, but he knows better.

Artifact in hand, Castle wishes himself back to another time. Further back this time. He's ready to go back as far as it takes, do this as often as it takes. _Terrible trials that only the worthy can endure_ , he told her once, and he steels himself for the trials to come.

X

He'll keep rewriting the ending, even if it kills him. And it does. More than once. Because fate doesn't like being rebelled against, and sometimes it swats aside his attempts to change it.

It weakens his grip at a crucial moment and the Hollander's Woods killer's knife doesn't make a harmless nick but bites deep, too deep, and he bleeds out on the floor.

It traps his arm when their car goes into the Hudson, and the river's filthy water fills his lungs.

Sometimes fate swats others aside.

It has Cole Maddox throw Kate not just to the edge of the building but off it completely.

And in Paris…he can't bear to think about what fate deals to his daughter.

He keeps the artifact with him at all times. If it isn't on his person then it's within arm's reach, so he can at any moment, even in his last moments, find another path to their ending.

X

On several occasions, he takes a different path completely.

He goes back to his and Kate's first case together. And instead of standing there while she walks away after whispering _You have no idea_ in his ear, he follows her. Wines and dines her. Becomes her lover that very night. And it is amazing, it is extraordinary, but it's like a firework—dazzling sparks and flash and no permanence. They aren't ready for each other yet.

Once—and he's not proud of it, but he's so tired—he takes the offer to write about a British secret agent. He moves to England and writes spy novels and learns to love tea instead of coffee. He and Kate exchange e-mails once in a while, but that tapers off after six months or so, and after that she's just a name on his Christmas card list. He becomes drinking buddies with a retired progressive rock guitarist who introduces him to a woman named Holly who becomes his girlfriend, and he's content. For a while. And maybe it's because he knows that there's a possibility for him to be more than content, or maybe it's because he's as addicted to Kate as he sometimes thought she was to her need for justice, but he writes a farewell note to Holly and takes hold of the artifact once more.

X

He thinks he knows what to do now.

In a way, it reminds him of the case of that little girl whose assassination could have sparked World War III. It's the little things that he needs to change. Small tweaks along the way. Things that won't rouse fate's ire.

He talks more to Kate in the early days of their relationship. Tries to make sure his contentedness isn't mistaken as boredom or complacency. Reveals more of who he is. Builds her trust not just in him, but in them.

And she does get the offer with the AG's office, only she doesn't keep it secret. They talk it over, and he doesn't dissuade her—he knows better by now. But one night, when they're discussing the offer, on his couch with wine glasses in hand, she mentions that she could use the department's resources to find evidence against Bracken.

 _Now. Here is the linchpin_. Careful not to overplay his hand, he gives an approving nod. And then: "But…if it's not part of an active investigation, couldn't you get in trouble?"

She giggles and takes a sip of wine. "So it's your turn to be the voice of reason?"

He shrugs. "I have my moments. Once or twice a year."

"More like once or twice a decade." Kate stares into her wine glass for a moment, swirly the contents thoughtfully. "It's…no, you're probably right."

Letting the subject drop is one of the harder things he's done. He lets it all play out as it has in the past: letting her go to DC, getting poisoned (and wondering the whole time if fate will swat him aside again and keep the antidote from him). Then she's fired, just like it's happened before.

He doesn't want to ask, for fear he'll jinx things. But one night, they're strolling home from dinner. She walks a lot these days, to take her mind off the restlessness that comes from being between jobs, and he can't reassure her that the NYPD will take her back soon. Kate's quiet this night, and he asks what's wrong.

"A missed opportunity," she says.

"The DC job?"

Kate shakes her head. "Not the job itself…in the end, it wasn't the right fit for me. But I could have tried to dig up something on Bracken."

"What happened?"

"I thought about it, but I figured it was a bad idea while I was still on probation." She sighs. "Now I wish I'd done it."

 _No, you don't_. "We'll find something," he assures her. "Some other way. We always do."

She stops, and smiles up at him. "You know, I think you're right," she says, and kisses him.

Her kiss tastes like hope.

X

His heart is pounding as he waits for her phone to ring.

It doesn't.

She fastens the bracelet on her wrist, kisses him goodbye, and heads out the door.

He goes to the PI office and spends an uneventful day there with Alexis, going through the cases and ordering in pizza. There's no phone call from Espo. No crime scene with a pool of blood and Kate's bracelet. He does get a call from Ryan, but it's just to pick his brain about pediatricians; Ryan's coverage has changed, and he needs to choose a new doctor for Sarah Grace.

Castle leaves the office and goes home, where he channels his nervousness into making spaghetti carbonara for dinner. Kate arrives home ten minutes after he expects her—the ten longest minutes of his life.

He greets her with a kiss and a glass of wine and "Oh Captain, my Captain." Over dinner she tells him about her first day in her new role, and afterward he can't recall a thing she's said. He's too busy drinking in the sight of her, reveling in the ordinariness of their day. That night, he holds her by a waist that's unmarred by a bullet graze and after she falls asleep, he keeps close to her all night long.

He spends the next few days on tenterhooks, not daring to hope that he might have finally, finally changed their fate. He keeps the artifact with him always; it's been so long since he's needed it. He doesn't risk hoping he never will again.

And when a week has come and gone—seven days, a number that seems safe—he relaxes. He can probably never let his guard down fully, or at least not for years. But he feels safe enough in their new fate that he slips out of bed late at night and goes into his office.

Though he's always had a vague, nondenominational belief in a higher power, Richard Castle has never been one for prayer. He goes to his knees now, though, much as Ebenezer Scrooge did after his Christmas Eve visitations, giving thanks for the fate that was spared him and the life that lies before him and all his loved ones.

 _ **One last chapter (or maybe two, depending) should give us a glimpse into the future. Don't worry. It's a happy ending.**_

 _ **For any who were upset by the deaths mentioned in the previous chapter and this one: I honestly didn't think to include a warning because none of them are permanent. I'm sorry—I'm a johnny-come-lately to fanfic, and the convention of these warnings is new to me.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry this took so long! Luckily, the muse bopped me on the head yesterday.**_

 _X_

 _ **December 23, 2046**_

Richard Castle tightens his grip on the cane. It's a handsome thing: custom-fitted, with a carved handle and—best of all—a sword concealed inside. He'll have to remember to put the safety on; his youngest grandchild has just gotten into _Star Wars_ , and the last thing they need is Jake running around with a real sword while he pretends to be Luke Skywalker. But the cane is practical too, which is good. The sidewalk is slick with a light snowfall, and the last thing he needs is to slip and go ass-over-teakettle. A busted hip is not what he wants for Christmas this year.

His purchase at the fabric store made, a bag full of yarn in one hand, he pauses. His favorite coffeehouse is right next door. It's got a patio area with a lovely ocean view, and he'll take any excuse to have a hot drink and look out at the wintry sea. A few minutes later, he's out on the patio with his mocha. It's a cold day, but he's warm, shielded from the elements by the Doctor Who scarf Kate knitted for him so long ago and by the infra-heaters overhead.

Before he can take the first sip of his drink, he hears a voice that puts all other thoughts out of his mind. "Son," the voice says.

Anyone else would believe it's impossible for the owner of that voice to be here, now, after all this time. But Castle knows how possible the impossible can be, so long as you have belief and determination enough. So he turns and with little surprise beholds his father standing there.

How long has it been since he saw the man? Thirty years if you were to go by the calendar. Thirty years since they parted outside a natural history museum, since Castle somehow persuaded his father to help him on what seemed like a delusional fantasy that events could be undone. Thirty calendar years, but Castle has spent much more time than that rewriting history.

What's all the more strange is that Jackson Hunt doesn't seem to have aged since Castle last saw him, in his original universe and timeline—or he hasn't aged much, anyway. Which means that Castle's actually older than his father now, a truly bewildering thought. But not so bewildering as all that—he can see the medallion, or that universe's version of it, clenched tightly in the man's hand.

"Son," his father says again, "I don't…I haven't much time. I just had to know, before…I had to know if it worked. What you were trying to do." Hunt swallows hard, and his eyes have a painful glitter to them that might be tears. "I'm guessing that it did?"

Castle nods. His first impulse is to bring his father to the house—it's almost Christmas, and everyone will be there—but there's no way he could explain all of this. "Can you sit down? I'll tell you about it."

"I don't know how much time there is…" Hunt looks down at the artifact in his hand, runs the other hand across his brow. "But yes. Let's sit."

Castle longs to ask: Is his father ill? Injured? But he doubts he'd get an answer. They sit on a bench at the edge of the patio, the slate-blue sea sighing below them.

"It worked," Castle says after a moment. "It took a long time. A lot of tries." Involuntarily he shudders. There are some bad memories from those attempts. "But I did it. Kate never ran the search on Bracken. LokSat never came after anyone. Kate was just the captain. I couldn't work with her every day, but sometimes the precinct would bring me in to consult, and it was all good.

"Alexis worked for me for a while, but the next year, she quit. She'd been doing a case to get evidence of a wife's affair, and when she met the husband at a Starbucks to show him what she'd found, he freaked out, pulled a gun, and took her and everyone else in the place hostage."

Hunt draws in a sharp breath. Castle hastens to reassure him: "It was fine. No injuries. But it was a twelve-hour standoff, and she was pretty shaken up. I think it brought back a lot of memories for her." It certainly had done so for him. "So after that she focused more on school."

"What's she doing now?" Hunt asks.

"Environmental investigator. Works for the EPA. She's married now. Nicholas worked in the lab when she was running a soil contamination case. They have a daughter, Phoebe, who's an English teacher."

"So I'm a great-grandfather?"

Castle smiles. "Twice over. Kate and I had twins a couple years after…after I saw you last. Noah and Belinda. Or as they like to call themselves, En and Bee." Sometimes they use a collective name of Enbee, as in: _Enbee thinks we should order pizza tonight_. Castle gets out his iScreen, pulls up the holos of the kids and the grandkids. Alexis, flanked by her husband and daughter, receiving an award at a banquet; her vivid red hair has a few gray streaks but unlike her mother and grandmother, she refuses to cover them up. Belinda and her wife Hannah, with Jake in his Superman onesie. Noah in his chef whites; he's got hair so dark brown it's almost black and piercing blue eyes—Martha always said he looked a lot like his grandfather had.

As if reading Castle's thoughts, his father asks, "And your mother?"

Castle shakes his head. "In 2030. It was an aneurysm. On stage at her acting class, no less."

Hunt smiles. "That's how she would have wanted it."

Castle agrees. It was hard to lose his mother—she'd always been so vibrant that the world was a much quieter place without her. And it had been hard to lose Jim Beckett to cancer a few years afterward. And there have been other losses—the third child Castle and Kate tried to have but lost to an early miscarriage, the gradual erosion of their friendship with Esposito, who seemed to drift away after Lanie got married, perhaps feeling like the perpetual fifth wheel. But these losses feel part of the natural order of things, and he's more than willing to bear those rather than the other hand fate had dealt him.

"Do you still write?"

"Still writing, though not as much. One more Nikki Heat book after Kate became captain, and then I tried science fiction." That book had more than a bit of a basis in his own experience with other universes. "Let's just say it's got a very small, deeply devoted following. So then I did a kids' series. Three siblings, two of them twins, solving mysteries and getting into trouble. Kind of a change, but I was ready for it."

"And Kate, is she still captain?"

"No. When she was expecting the twins, she had to go on bed rest. To keep from going crazy, she took up knitting"—Castle holds up the bag full of yarn—"and she went through cold cases. Solved three of them before the twins arrived. She went back to being captain after maternity leave ended, but after about six months she decided she'd rather spend more time with the kids, and she got more fulfillment out of the cold cases than she did out of politics and paperwork."

"I can see that." Hunt starts to smile, but his expression turns into an odd, faraway look. Before Castle's eyes, his father seems to shimmer and fade for a moment. "It's almost…I haven't much time."

"What's happening?"

Hunt shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I…I know I haven't been a good father. Barely been a father at all. I just wanted to find out if it worked for you. Changing your ending." His father's eyes are full of sorrow. It's a look Castle recognizes, having seen it in a mirror, thirty years ago when he decided to take fate into his own hands.

"What happened?" He doesn't like to think what could have pushed his ruthless, coldly practical father to place faith in a key to other universes. "In your world, I mean? After…"

A wave of cold runs over Castle, a goose-walked-over-my-grave feeling. His eyes close involuntarily, just for a second, and when he opens them again, his father is gone.

Castle looks around. There's no sign of Hunt anywhere. There are wet footprints on the patio, but only leading to where he sits—none leading away. He's about to tell himself he imagined the whole thing when one of the baristas asks, "Did your friend want anything?"

 _He wanted redemption_ , Castle thinks. _Wanted to know he'd been able to help even when all hope was gone_. He looks over the holos of his family once more, then stows the iScreen away.

It's time to go home.

X

He's almost at the door of the Hamptons house when it opens. Noah's standing there, apron dusted with what looks like either flour or powdered sugar, a dish towel over one shoulder, a spatula in one hand. "Need a hand?" he asks.

"No, it's just yarn," Castle says.

They make their way into the kitchen, which is warm and full of the scent of delicious things. Castle and Kate offered to do the cooking—they were sure that Noah's job as a sous chef would have him wanting a break from things culinary—but he's been in the kitchen since he arrived, making cookies and candy and other treats. And he's got a big dinner planned for tomorrow night, when his girlfriend Mackenzie will be arriving, and an even bigger dinner in the works for Boxing Day, when the Ryans come to visit. "Where's everyone?" asks Castle.

Noah plucks a saucepan from the stovetop and starts whisking something. "Mom and Bee are in the great room. Hannah and Jake are off somewhere watching _The Year Without a Santa Claus_ for the fiftieth time."

Castle grins, remembering last night and Jake's a capella rendition of the Heat Miser and Snow Miser songs. That Christmas special had always been the twins' favorite as well, so Jake came by it honestly.

His son gestures toward the great room. "Go on, take Mom her yarn. I'll bring you all a snack soon."

Castle steps into the great room, where Kate and Belinda are laughing about something. Girl talk. He smiles, holds the bag out to his wife. "Your yarn."

She takes it from him and peers inside. "Perfect. Thank you, babe." She smiles, and as always, her smile seems to light up the room. He'd say it makes her look young again, and it does, but sometimes he thinks he loves her more with gray hair and feet that no longer can wear high heels and wrinkles: those are all signs that they made it.

"I'm so sorry about the scarf," Belinda says. "Jake found out that the Hufflepuff common room is by the kitchens, 'Where Unca En works,' so he had to have a Hufflepuff scarf."

"It's no trouble," Kate says. "I can do Hogwarts scarves in my sleep by now. Were the roads bad?" she asks Castle. "You were gone a while."

"Stopped at Java Man for a mocha." It's the truth, after all. "Any word from Alexis and Nicholas?"

"They called a while back," says Belinda. "They should be here any minute." She gets up from the sofa. "I'll go get Jake cleaned up for company. Unca En made smorelettes—"

"His father's son," murmurs Kate.

"—and he's probably all covered with chocolate."

While his son bustles in the kitchen and his wife takes up her knitting needles and his daughter goes to get his grandson cleaned up, Castle goes to his bedroom. For a few moments he sits, pondering the visitation from his father. His heart goes out to the man, but he has no urge to try to rewrite Hunt's ending. _He's not family, you are_ , he told Kate once. That's still true, but he does hope that the glimpse Hunt got of his son's life brought him some peace.

Castle opens the drawer of his night table. There's a hidden compartment at the back, and in it is the artifact. It's been tucked away for ages. He stopped carrying it with him a few years after Bracken died in 2019, supposedly of a heart attack. When it appeared that no ghosts were going to rise from the past to plague him and his family, he stashed the artifact away. It's served its purpose. It let him rewrite their ending. And as difficult as that had been, it was worth it. He's alive, in this place, with the people he loves. More than worth it.

The doorbell jingles and he hears the unmistakable sound of Jake tearing through the house—"Auntie Lex is here!"—and Hannah calling out, "Slow down, young man!"

Castle hears voices now, those of his eldest daughter and his son-in-law and his first grandchild. He smiles, closes the drawer, and goes to welcome the rest of his family home for Christmas.

 _ **The whole "keeping Castle out of the loop will protect him" thing has never made an iota of sense to me. It's far likelier that LokSat would kill Castle and probably Alexis too, seeing as she's so involved in the PI business these days. The boys would probably be safe, as would Martha, but I am a big meanie and I wanted to give Castle no reason to hold back from trying to change fate.**_

 _ **The idea of the resistance of history to change came from Stephen King's novel 11/22/63. I loved the chance to play with the alternate universes and to find the exact time and method that Castle could use to rewrite his and Beckett's ending and give them a happily-ever-after.**_


End file.
